My grip tightens on Locke’s wrist until my knuckles turn pure white.
“I’m not denying something out of a fear of hurting Zara,” Locke replies, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that sends a shiver down my spine. “I am actively, forcefully refusing to hurt her. She is my choice.”
Willow stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, watching the impenetrable wall of his devotion remain completely solid. Slowly, something vital inside her expression folds inward, extinguishing the bright, hopeful light behind her eyes, leaving behind a cold, hollow shell.
“All right,” she whispers quietly.
My father lets out a massive, audible exhale of relief, his shoulders dropping… but he celebrates far too soon.
Willow smoothly pushes her chair back and stands up, smoothing down the fro
